


The Flames That Burn

by xSheepie



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 15:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15391530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSheepie/pseuds/xSheepie
Summary: Chef AU: chef!mickey and dishwasher!ianBasically I watched a lot of Gordon Ramsey and then wrote this piece of garbage to keep with the tradition of posting something on my birthday and also because I've had this half finished on my phone for ages and posting something will help motivate me to complete it probably





	The Flames That Burn

The reopening of Petrus after the renovation brought in full bookings for the first week. Normally Tuesday they were closed but Grant, the manager had opened it for a meeting of important guests with deep pockets. For the purpose of training the new butcher chef and despite the grumbling of the staff, Mickey had pulled the full panels of cooks in early for practice getting use to the new body in the kitchen. The kitchen was in full swing nearly half way through the night, only missing the pastry chef Jamie who'd begged out due to not having a babysitter.

  
Liam brought over the second course, holding it out for Mickey's approval. The head chef adjusted the parsley before nodding and gestured for it to be given to one of the waiters vibrating next to the doors for the next course. Mickey frowns as Liam lingers, holding the plate nervously.

  
Mickey frowned. "What do you want? A medal, an announcement? Jesus, put it down and piss off! You should be busy, yes?"

"Yes, Chef." Liam hurried off to plate the rest of the quiche and deposit them with Marcus and Mickey rolled his eyes. _Fucking children_.

"I'm done!" Mason yelled urgently from the other side of the kitchen.

  
"Well, where in the hell is your plate?"

  
"No clean plates, chef!"

  
_I'm gonna lose my fucking mind_ , Mickey thought and stormed into the wash room.

A solitary dishwasher was unloading the machine and muttering to himself. The dishwasher was unfamiliar to Mickey, who didn't bother getting to know him and went straight to shoving his shoulder to catch his attention.

  
"Hey, moron. You have one job and I've got no dishes and some very important guests!"

The red head snapped to attention but Mickey was still winding up. He shoved him square in the chest. "Wanna give me a good reason not to fire you this fucking second?"

  
"The washer broke, chef." The boy was bending back over the open washer, an inch from being pushed off balance as Mickey closed in. He really was only a boy, he realized in annoyance, maybe eighteen or nineteen and lanky, his white coat open over a water spattered t-shirt, black skinny jeans shrinkwrapped around his legs.

  
"Then do them by hand." Mickey accentuated each word and to help burn off some of the anger boiling to his brain he gave the boy one last bump, causing him to trip backwards and hit the edge of the washer with his elbow. He stayed on the floor, holding his elbow, eyes wide. "I'll send a waiter back to help."

  
Mickey did just that, and snapped at Mason who had burned his meat waiting for a plate.

"Jesus Christ!" He yelled and slammed a pan down on a counter. The cooks all froze momentarily and turned to him. "The fact that you aren't used to working on a Tuesday is no excuse for how poorly everyone has operated tonight. You two, glazed carrots. You, redo the meat, you get those tarts out of the oven and into the cooler or so help me god- you should all know how to act in a kitchen by now! Yes?"

  
"Yes Chef!" The four cooks went back to it with vigor and soon Red and the waiter were bringing out cleaned and dried dishes. The food was served in a timely fashion. The guests were happy enough to send complements back to the chef and Mickey staved off an aneurysm. Mickey happily kicked everyone out at ten, when the kitchen was shut down.

Mickey poked his head out into the floor, looking for Grant to confirm the order schedule for the next week. His boss was talking to Red and Mickey didn't miss the way his hand brushed the boys flank heavily before he headed out. The dishwasher flashed a pretty smile at his groping and Mickey snorted. _The pretty ones are always for sale_ , Mickey bitterly thought to himself.

  
As Grant left, Red's shoulders slumped a little and he shuffled back to the wash room, rubbing wearily at his reddening eyes. Mickey's eyes followed the movement. He had a black ring on his middle finger and it highlighted the long lines of his hands and the circles under his eyes. He disappeared into the washroom and Mickey heard listless scrubbing as he stepped outside to smoke.

The chill of the night air was a pleasant reprieve from the heat of the kitchen and the long needed nicotine continued to soothe Mickey.

  
Red came out soon enough, a threadbare sweater wrapped around his skinny form and a bottom heavy messenger bag slung across his chest. His eyes flicked up to Mickey leaning against the wall and then back to the ground.

  
"I put in a work order for the washer, Chef."

  
Mickey stared at him. "What happened to it?"

  
The boy shrugged.

  
"What's your name?"

  
"Ian."

  
"Show some initiative next time."

  
Ian folded his arms, his words defiant but his posture nervous. "You can't blame me for wear and tear, it's a kitchen."

  
Mickey pushed off the wall, stepping into the weak light. Mickey projected menace like a second skin. "No, but you wash dishes. Learn a unique skill or do your shitty job and wash dishes."

  
Ian looked like he wanted to hit Mickey.

Mickey flicked the smoldering butt of his cig to the side, not taking his eyes off the bean pole in front of him.

Ian's jaw clenched. "I have skills."

  
"Spreading your legs ain't a skill, Red."

  
Ian went from being about to swing to taking a step back like someone had flipped a switch. "Fuck you man." Ian muttered and walked away.

  
Mickey stared after him. Ian disappeared around the corner and didn't look back. Mickey sighed and headed home, not looking forward to going to work tomorrow.


End file.
